


put this stuff back where it came from, or so help me

by prettyshiroic (dinosuns)



Series: antics and space mice and blades oh my [2]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Belonging, Comedy, Developing Friendships, Family Bonding, Family Dynamics, Family Fluff, Gen, It's so silly, Keith (Voltron)-centric, Long-Distance Friendship, au where regris lives, bad humour, blade of marmora, everyone loves keith, i hope he knows, the boys are back in town
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-01
Updated: 2018-03-01
Packaged: 2019-03-25 09:36:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13831434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dinosuns/pseuds/prettyshiroic
Summary: “Unbelievable.”Platt’s eyes widen, posture straightening and perking up at the words. For some reason, the mouse looks positively content. Oh. Right. Keith almost forgot. The mouse doesn’t get sarcasm.“No that - that is not a compliment!!”----After a long mission away, Keith returns to a few big surprises...





	put this stuff back where it came from, or so help me

**Author's Note:**

> i've been yearning to do a part 2 to the space mice fic for a long time and finally an idea hit me! this has been a hOOT to write, i just hope you enjoy it as much as i did writing it. it might be worth reading part 1 first, but i think it's not too difficult to pick up! 
> 
> warning: mention of healing injury and loss of limb mention with regris' tail.

****It’s taken a total of six weeks to track down the quintessence supply line and complete this mission. When they had been close to their next stop, the work had been gruelling and intense - they’d have minutes to extract the data to chart the course. Other times however, the work had been unexpectedly monotonous. Cooking. Cleaning. Planning. Reading.

Worse - flying, but not piloting. Being a passenger on board a moving ship with hours to kill before the next event made Keith unspeakably restless. Lack of communication devices and contact with the outside world meant interactions were limited to each other. And contrary to popular opinion, Keith actually liked talking. With the right people he even enjoyed it. It helped, too. Because somehow the vast stretch of quiet space they charted was eerily similar to the open unforgiving desert.

Keith hadn’t been in mourning in space. Still, the burning refused to subside - it _still_ refuses.

Maybe he is in mourning. Just a different kind.

Anyway. Whilst smalltalk had never been Keith’s forte, or something he saw the point of, he finds himself slipping into mindless chats with Sorang and Akkim almost after the first day out here. It’s an easy distraction, a welcome one. It turns out they’re about thirty years older than him in earth years, but still very young for a typical Galra. During their talks, Akkim often gets philosophical, stroking a beard he didn’t have just for the sake of looking pensive. Sorang, on the other hand, has more interest in the practical things. Combined, they become great conversation partners and they’re even better teammates.

Currently, conversation is slow and soft against the hum of the ship. They’re on route back to the main base. Flying - but not piloting. Akkim is perched on a seat across the room, hood pulled back over his teal forehead. Not too far sits Sorang, tail swishing. Leaning against the wall, Keith remains on the floor between them. As the door opens to reveal Kolivan, his posture immediately straightens.

“Kolivan,” he leaps to his feet out of instinct, readying himself for their next task. Just because they’re headed back doesn’t mean the mission is over yet.

Pointedly, Keith ignores the muffled amusements of Akkim behind him. He thinks he hears the word ‘eager’, and it’s enough for his ears to grow a little hot beneath his overgrown hair. The teasing is in good faith, not biting or mocking. Often it’s become accompanied by hair ruffles and elbow nudges. Akkim and Sorang have always made their growing fondness for Keith clear, which he appreciates.

But that doesn’t mean he appreciates the teasing itself all the time. _Especially in front of_ __Koliv_ an. _

An expression close to bemusement flickers over Kolivan’s face as the mask lifts. It’s over so fast Keith questions whether it was truly there or a trick of his tired eyes. But Keith’s committed to to his actions now, standing to attention for orders. Averting his gaze would be defeat. Akkim would never let him live it down, though Sorang won’t let him live this down anyway.

“At ease. I merely am here to inform you that we will be landing soon. Our success here will help us greatly moving forwards.” Kolivan’s eyes drift towards Keith slowly and settle there. “This was not a simple mission. Your hard work has not gone unappreciated.”

Kolivan is addressing the three of them, however there’s something nestled in there that is too raw. It hangs on the precipice of private encouraging words meant for Keith and Keith alone despite the situation. Sorang bows her head, Keith absently follows suit without hesitation. Looking at the ground is much easier than looking at Kolivan right now.  

The moment passes, but the atmosphere doesn’t calm. Keith just can’t sink into it, can’t relax. As his eyes open, he didn’t even realise he’d clamped them shut, they sting.

“What?” Keith snaps a little too irritably when a chime-like laugh escapes through Sorang’s serrated teeth the second Kolivan leaves the room. Undeterred, Sorang grins. She’s always prepared to provide distractions, make things a little easier.

“It’s like a little duckling. When it…” she lifts her padded hands up and down, repeating the same gesture Keith had done a few nights ago. Well. The universe is just spiting him now, surely. Akkim laughs heartily, joining in on the motion.

Success comes at a cost, apparently.

“When it wiggles-“

“- _Waddles_!”Akkim corrects, though the pronunciation is wrong.

“Oh, yes, waddles. When a duckling waddles after the bigger one.” Pause. As if it wasn’t explicitly clear, Sorang points at keith. “That’s you.”

Keith doesn’t regret much. But right now he immediately begins to regret explaining what a duckling was that one evening the pair of them curiously quizzed him on earth animals. Being compared to a fluffy duckling is completely mortifying. The tension in his shoulders lessens, though.

“Reiket kuax zecthigaal,” he quips back, stumbling horribly over the consonants his tongue has no chance of forming. The hard accents fall in the wrong places, making it sound painfully awkward. Despite the sharpness in his eyes, there’s no heat to his words - just spiralling embarrassment.

The universal translator had become a little glitchy out in this quadrant of space. Something to do with the radiation. Maybe. Even if Pidge explained it, Keith’s sure it would change very little in terms of how much he understood. Either way, it opened an opportunity for Keith to pick up a bit more Galran. The others were more than willing to share, so long as in return he shared some things about earth. In the vexing downtime between engaging with their data, and carrying out menial tasks and _flying but not piloting,_ it made things a little more interesting at least.

“It’s _kuax,”_ Sorang clicks her tongue, deliberately overstating the syllables. “Hey, if you’re to use an insult that is over five thousand years old you best do it properly.”

Humming absently, Keith leans back against the wall. The space beside him is empty and it feels wrong even after all this time. Because this mission was supposed to have an extra person. Regris’ recovery had been slow and steady. Whilst desperately wanting to be part of this mission, it had been impossible with the severe injuries sustained. Now they’re getting closer to the base, he’s looking forward to seeing Regris again. This is the first time they haven’t been on missions together. It’s also the longest they’ve been apart.

Then there’s _Platt,_ the mischievous mouse Keith had left with his friend. Ducking his head into his folded arms, Keith leans against his suit.

Since his call with Allura the night before the mission, he hasn’t had any contact with Voltron whatsoever. It’s strange, not being included in their plans or involved in the daily events at the castle. To be part of the cause, but not part of that team. Whilst being with the blades fulfils a similar purpose, the pang in his chest strikes a chord too close to unbandaged wounds. So Keith buries the thought as deep as he possibly can.

Things are different now. Maybe that’s for the best.

It’s not bad with the blades at all. Just different, _just like this mourning is different to the mourning in the desert-_  a sharp breathless laugh drags from his lips.

“Another droll joke of yours?” Akkim asks, interest piqued. It had been surprising at first, but Akkim had found Keith’s wry and dry sense of humour extremely engaging. Those yellow eyes glisten too knowingly, another question is being asked here.

A smile curls in the corner of Keith’s mouth. It’s off centre and there’s a tremble in his voice that unfortunately gives everything away. “Yeah. Something like that.”

“Well, don’t be _kuax -_ won’t you tell it?” Sorang gets off her seat, sitting down beside Keith. Their knees bump lightly, enough for Keith to ground himself back on the ship. It’s unclear if she’s aware how much that gesture helped, but it goes unspoken. A lot goes unspoken, which is nice. The Galra are far more intuitive with emotions than Keith ever thought they were. Or perhaps that has something to do with Keith’s own demeanour.

“Or maybe I can tell you both one.”

“Yes Akkim,” Sorang rolls her eyes. “We’d _love_ to listen to that!”

The journey back soon entails banter Keith can hardly keep up with. Akkim is fast and never misses a beat when Keith starts to parry. In the space between, Sorang teaches Keith some more phrases, butting his forehead with her shoulder each time he gets it wrong.

He doesn’t remember falling asleep, but opening his eyes to the feeling of Sorang nudging him awake again is proof he did in fact clock out somewhere down the line. Well. 

“Welcome back. Though I am quite offended, those were my best jokes,” Akkim laments teasingly. Clearing his throat, Keith lifts his head from Sorang’s shoulder. 

“We’re back?” He stretches out his arms gradually, getting to his feet. Even with a little sleep, his legs are like lead. Uncomfortable to move, horribly heavy.

“Yes,” Akkim confirms with a sobering smile. “Go ahead. We’ll take in the supplies.”

Keith frowns at that. Just because he’s exhausted doesn’t mean he’s not capable of helping out.

“Are you sure?”

Akkim nods.

“Go,” he repeats, and then for extra incentive continues. “Someone is waiting for you outside.”

Peering out the window, Keith catches sight of none other than Regris. Standing without aid. With a quick wave to Akkim and Sorang, Keith darts off the ship. Honestly, Keith is unsure of the etiquette here. However, he hopes the hasty way he walks towards his friend, the wide open smile stretching over his face, is indication enough that he missed this more than he can articulate.

“Regris…” Keith breathes once they’re a few feet apart.

“Hello. It’s good to have you back, Keith.”

Regris’s eyes are kind and so are his words. Of course they are. In theory, without another context they are the kindest words he could choose. But Keith bristles despite himself. It’s wrong to respond the way he wants to, the way ingrained into him. _It’s good to be back._ This isn’t Shiro, this isn’t Voltron. He isn’t a paladin. This is different.

Pushing his lips into the most sincere smile he can muster, because he _did_ miss Regris, Keith drums his thighs nervously. The damage is done, however. He can see it. Regris noticed, and there’s an insatiable curiosity there Keith knows will not be quenched until he interrogates Keith later. Great. _Knowledge or death_ , Regris really embraced that aspect of being a blade. In all situations. Quite literally on their last mission together.

“You’re looking much better,” is what Keith finally settles for, when the silence strung out between them gives voice to things he’d rather not hear.

It’s something he can be earnest with, because it’s true. Regris does look better than before. And that’s a relief. The colour has returned to Regris’ skin. The pigmentation is back to that shimmery turquoise and lilac, with a sprinkling of emerald around the eyes. His scales have regrown along his jawline. The bandages are finally off, but the suit Regris wears covers most of the burns and scarring. Beneath, Keith is sure all the traces painful exit wounds remain.

It had been quite a close call.

The sound of Keith’s voice seems to stir something in Regris’ hood. The rustling is enough for the fabric to start moving as if there’s a light breeze. It’s not hard to figure out what, or rather who, it is. In moments, out pokes a yellow mouse. Keith will never admit his heart swells at the sight but it doesn’t change the fact it does. Platt’s sporting an overgrown fringe. Much like Keith, the mouse needs a haircut. It looks terrible. But all concerns on a mouse’s hairstyle ebb away once Platt catches sight of Keith. Unexpectedly, the mouse jumps out the hood.

Scrambling to catch the acrobatic fiend, Keith leans forwards. Platt lands in his hands with a soft thud. Not a moment is wasted. Platt bounces up to nuzzle Keith’s face. Keith should protest. He should reprimand them both for being this careless out in the open. But for just a moment, this is nice. Platt’s fur is soft against his cheek; the squeaking is a noise Keith just might have missed.

Only when the mouse gets too loud, does Keith tug back. Honestly he’s touched Platt missed him. Of all things, he hadn’t expected that. However, making a ruckus is the opposite of what they need. Glancing over his shoulder, he spots Akkim and Sorang busying themselves with moving leftover food and water off the ship. They’re not coming this way, but there’s still a risk of getting caught.

“Alright, that’s enough.”

Bowing its head, Platt slumps. The mouse actually looks upset. Keith pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Hey! You’re not even supposed to be out here, what if someone saw you?”

Dropping Platt into his hood, Keith tuns to Regris with a small nod.

“Let’s get out of here.”

With training and a plethora of other tasks to commit to from tomorrow, Keith is actually looking forward to his bed. The Galra empire doesn't stop for them to sleep, so Keith will be happy to take whatever rest he can get. Even a handful of hours, enough for the aching between his bones and uncomfortable quivering of his muscles to ease up a fraction. The product of hardwork is satisfying when it's felt, but it’s been months on a mission far from anywhere familiar.  

“How was the mission?” Regris asks, and the universe has impeccable timing for its own dark punchlines. The genuine interest and hopeful tone is hard to miss, so Keith decides to indulge him. _Regris wanted to be on that mission._

“You didn't miss much.” Bitterness curls around the edge of his mouth. The mission was a success, but Keith doesn’t want to gloat about how much fun he had on a mission Regris deserved to be on - _could’ve_ been on if Keith hadn’t insisted they stayed a little longer on that empty suspicious ship.

Regris nudges his shoulder with a hand, probing silently for more. Before the explosion, that would've been his tail prodding Keith. It’s a difficult thought to shake.

“I -... it’s nothing we didn't already suspect. We still don’t understand the new type of quintessence, or where it came from.”

“The journey was not a wasted one,” Regris supplies, piecing the clues together well enough. There’s no hesitation and it catches Keith off-guard for a moment. It’s almost as if the blade can see _exactly_ where Keith’s mind is heading, and is swiftly catching up to block it off. Without uttering a word on the uneasy subject, Regis is clearly disapproving this tactic.

“You have intel.” Pause. “Did you get a sample?”

A breathless laugh escapes Keith’s lips as he ducks his head. “Ha. Who do you think you’re talking to?”

The sample is in Kolivan’s hands now, undoubtedly being put somewhere secure and extremely well guarded. The caution Kolivan practices is not excessive in this case whatsoever. There's every need to remain vigilant about this.

Relief swathes over Keith at the sight of a familiar doorway. Their room. With a sigh, Keith stretches out his arms. Platt moves in his hood. Glancing over his shoulder, Keith bites down on a smile when he spots Platt stretching for no reason other than to copy him. And the subsequent surge of contentment is almost too much to suppress.

“Sure is nice to be home again.”

The words are parted with so effortlessly. And it takes a moment for Keith to register the implications of what he just said.

“Home?”

Keith hums absently, bowing his head. It’s neither a solid confirmation or dismissal. He's not entirely sure how to feel about it, about what that means for the castle. It’s not the same. Things are different.

Before he can slip into their room, Regris puts his hand out to nudge Keith back. Raising an eyebrow, Keith pauses. A question dances in his eyes, but he's not quite ready to speak yet. He doesn't trust his voice. It could betray him even more.

As door opens, Keith strides forwards. He doesn't get far. Mostly because he can’t actually get _into_ the bedroom without clambering over a massive pile of junk. The collection of stashed objects starts from the corner of the room, messily spilling in front of the doorway.

Books. Clothes. Jewellery. Wordlessly, Keith turns to Regris for an explanation. The blade is quiet for a moment, staring down at the chaotic heap. He seems to find inspiration just as Platt dramatically leaps into the air and lands at the top of the pile. Keith thinks he hears a ‘ta-da’, but that’s probably his imagination. Mice don’t talk.

 _Regris,_ however, does. Stepping past Keith, he sits on his bed. Funny. Last time Keith saw him in here the blade was dosed up on painkillers and barely able to stay awake. Something must flash across Keith’s face that says too much. Shifting on the bed, Regris outstretches his arms helplessly.

“Platt wanted to surprise you.”

“Well… consider me surprised,” Keith breathes, struggling to comprehend what exactly he’s looking at besides a pile of unrelated objects.

It’s not until he notices Aredis’ toothbrush in the pile it starts to all make sense. Oh. Wow. Okay. Aredis will not be happy about that. As if the guy doesn’t have enough of a grudge against Keith. But as Keith inches closer, he realises this is not an isolated incident. Because now Keith’s looking, _truly looking,_ he sees more and more familiar objects.

It dawns on him, then.

These are all other people’s belongings.

He spots Perim’s silver chain, Fauzila’s cherished plush everybody pretends they don't know about, Hotuk’s favourite carving knife. Reaching down, Keith dangles the knife from his fingers. Light and graceful, well balanced. He gives an experimental swing, smiling at the way it glides. It’s so smooth, cutting through the air with impressive ease.

His fascination is disrupted when Platt wriggles in delight. Delight at Keith’s enjoyment. It tugs his focus back to the situation at hand. And yes, this is definitely a situation. Lips pursing, Keith stares down at the knife. As beautiful as this knife is, a gleaming rose gold with the most intricate carvings he doesn’t understand running down the spine, Keith can’t accept it. He can’t accept any of this.   

“You took other people’s stuff to give to me as gifts?” It’s less of a question, worded as such simply to eliminate any trace of doubt.

There’s a sheepish smile tucked into the corner of Regris’ mouth that confirms everything, one that Keith almost misses because he’s so surprised that Regris really had the audacity to play along. Apparently, leaving the pair of them alone for this amount of time was a bad idea.

And Platt is no better. The mouse is now perched on Regris’ shoulder. The whole thing screams trouble and mischief. If a mouse could look smug, Platt looks it right now. And Platt definitely _shouldn’t_ be smug because there is nothing to be so pleased about.

Folding his arms across his chest, Keith raises an eyebrow.

“Unbelievable.”

Platt’s eyes widen, posture straightening and perking up at the words. For some reason, the mouse looks positively content. Claws clapping together, Platt squeaks loudly. Then proceeds to do a strange tapdance on Regris’ shoulder. Oh. Right. Keith almost forgot. The mouse doesn’t get sarcasm. Clicking his tongue, Keith sighs.

“No that - that is not a compliment!!” Platt deflates immediately, nestling into Regris’ scaly neck. Whilst Keith doesn’t want to make the mouse cry, he holds his ground. “I mean, come on! This is ridiculous _. Look at this!”_

Walking towards the pile of hoarded goods in their room, Keith picks up a mildly terrifying ornament from the top of the pile. It’s halfway between a crab and an octopus. _With wings._ Keith isn’t sure what it’s supposed to be, but he knows it’s not supposed to be in their room.

“...What is that?” he asks in bewilderment, momentarily distracted from his frustration. The longer he looks, the less sure he is.

“It’s a Scalpicithus,” Regris smoothly replies.

Scalpi-something. Right. Duly noted. Nodding absently, Keith catalogues the information and snaps out of his confused reverie. The fact Regris seems to think he’s off the hook and answers an unrelated question is cause to pick back up where he left off. Keith gives Regris a pointed look who has the decency to shuffle a little on his feet.

Setting the ornament back down on top of the pile, Keith narrows his eyes. He’s not mad, he’s not even disappointed yet. He’s exasperated. It’s been a long time on the road, and the prospect of a moment’s peace is now completely off the table.    

“I get back from a _serious mission_ to find you guys have been stealing things from other blades. What is - why would you - _what_ is going on?”

“There is no plural. It was Platt who did this.”

Keith blinks. His eyes drag from Regis’ face to the mouse who is doing a very poor job at hiding behind Regris’ neck. Platt looks scandalised that his newfound best friend would betray him this way. Given the way the pair of them bonded before Keith left, Keith isn’t sure he can completely trust this story.

“You sure about that?” Even if Regris _didn’t_ directly partake in taking all this stuff he also didn’t put it back. That’s still technically assisting a criminal. A very fluffy criminal who is trying hard to become invisible.

“I lost a limb,” Regris says tactfully, as if that automatically absolves him. As if Keith didn’t leave him here to look after the mouse and hold down the fort whilst Keith was away.

“Maybe so,” Keith counters. “But you’re walking again now.” _You could have stopped this,_ goes unsaid.

“Losing a limb is a lot to process, it consumed all my waking hours.” Pause. “And walking hours.”

It’s a blatant stroke of facetious evasion, and Keith rolls his eyes. Part of him is stunned into silence, that he somehow _underestimated_ that coy twist of humour Regris exhibited outside of missions. He’s underestimated it so much. Not to mention, it’s easier to take the words at face value rather than something deeper.

Keith knows better than anyone what Regris went through, how he almost died. He was there. Before the bitter sting of guilt can surface and consume him, _because he did this he caused that if he hadn’t suggested they stayed Regris would still have his tail_ , Keith clears his throat.

“Platt,” the mouse creeps out from behind Regris’ neck. It’s eyes practically double in size, as if that will somehow help its case. “You’re going to give all of this back. And apologise. To every. Single. Blade.”

Keith punctuates the last few words, for extra emphasis. Just in case. He’s no stranger to the fact Platt likes to play obtuse whenever convenient. And right now, it definitely is convenient.  The mouse hangs its head in a way that looks close to shame. A scaly hand pats Platt’s head, and that’s only the beginning of the downward spiral into double trouble.

“I thought Platt was a secret,” Regris chips in with such easy fluency. For a moment, Keith’s taken back to some of the many classrooms he sat in where a kid spoke up with a smartass remark to make the others laugh. Blinking, he folds his arms across his chest. Unfazed, Regris continues. “Platt isn’t supposed to be here, so Platt can’t apologise to the blades.”

If Regris’ eyelashes were longer, Keith is certain he’d be batting them. Well. Two can play at that game. It just so happens Keith has always been gifted with a knack for sarcasm and cutting wit. Akkim might’ve taught him a few things on their mission, too. Leaning back against the wall, Keith cocks his head towards the pile.

“Good thing you’re not a secret, then. You can return the stuff.”

“I've been injured, Keith.” That may be the truth, but Keith can hear the amusement in it, he catches the twitch of Regris’ lips. There’s an implication lingering there. Outstretching his hands, Keith narrows his eyes. Absolutely not.

“You can't be serious?! I - I wasn’t even here! _”_ Sigh. One hand rubs at his forehead, eyes pressing shut. This stuff can’t stay here. But putting it back is proving to be more complicated than expected. “Okay. _Okay._ ” Eyes snap open. “Maybe we should just…”

Keith curses himself for slipping into the plural as he trails off. Apparently, this is also now on him just as much as Platt and Regris. Both of who are leaning forwards dramatically, hanging onto his every word. They’re so naturally in tune with each other, it’s endearing enough for the frustration bubbling beneath Keith’s skin to simmer. He doesn’t have all the facts just yet.

“We could leave stuff where we know they’d find it again,” he offers. It’s not the best idea. Whilst it’s workable, it’s _time consuming._

Not to mention, it’s not entirely honest. Although, Platt’s presence here has been a rooted in secrecy. Keith’s eyes drift towards the pile. He picks up one of Carasicus’ gloves, swinging it like a pendulum. The blades are curious by default. They have a hunger for answers and understanding the truth. They’ll probably want to know where the stuff went and how it magically reappeared.

Regis moves to stand beside Keith, examining the glove. “Do you think it will work?”

“Yeah.” No. Not a chance. But without exposing Platt, it’s the only shot they have. The mouse snatches the glove from Keith’s hands, scandalised at the prospect of returning it. It’s eyes are watery and its nose twitches.

“We have to,” Keith says firmly. “It doesn’t belong to you.”

Regris coughs. It’s a poorly stifled laugh. Keith sharply looks over and catches the gleam in his friend’s eyes.

“Stay here.” Pause. Eyes dart between them suspiciously because yes Keith has every right to be suspicious. For emphasis, he continues. “Both of you, stay here.”

Maybe this is a mistake. Leaving them here alone could be costly. Platt looks unconvinced, too interested in where Keith is going to concentrate on the instructions. Frustration pinches his brow.

“Just-… start organising the pile or something.”

Conviction falters as Keith takes in the absurdity of the situation again. Two pairs of wide blinking eyes look up at him in confusion. Platt’s Head cocks and Regris mimics the gesture. It’s no longer sweet.

“Right. I uh...- I’m just gonna, you know,” he gestures absently to the door behind him.

“Run an errand?” Regris supplies, a coy smile that has no business being there tucked into his mouth. It’s not even subtle. To think, Keith once thought Regris had tact. For a moment, he’s too stunned at the mischievous undertone to respond.

“Yeah,” he barely manages. “That.”

On that note, Keith leaves the room with the holopad. Well. That happened. This is happening.

Keith makes it four whole steps before poking his head back into the room.

“Actually, don’t -” Platt freezes comically, halfway through trying to shove Perim’s silver chain into its mouth. “ _Don’t touch anything_!”

\--

“Oh! Why hello there Keith!” Coran chirps from the other side of the screen when the call begins. He looks happy to see Keith. Relieved, even. It draws an instinctive smile from Keith that burns in all the wrong places. Honestly, Keith didn’t have any intention to call just yet. And the second he’s greeted by that bushy orange moustache is a grim reminder of why it was so imperative not to call.

There’s a sharp ache in his chest, twisting violently without remorse. His bones are heavy, but empty. No amount of fulfilling a greater purpose can make them whole, make him whole.

Keith has always been hollow. Until he wasn’t. Now he’s hollowed.

“Hey Coran.”

“How was your mission?”

“Great. Kolivan will be sending you guys the intel in the morning.”

“I think the others might still be awake if you-“

Keith’s eyes widen.

“-No!” His alarm cuts across too sharply, momentarily startling Coran who falls silent. “I mean,” softening his voice, Keith frowns. “Sorry. I- I’m just…” sigh. “Tired.” _He is_. But it feels like evasion. Maybe it is. The excuses have his chest tightening. He’s desperate for Coran to understand, not to misunderstand. “It’s been a long journey home.”

“Ah, yes,” Coran muses with a hum that’s not as cheerful as the tune it carries, eyes drifting off. “Home.”

Keith can’t possibly begin to read that expression. Something unfamiliar catches in Coran’s voice. It’s not wistful or nostalgic, there’s too much poignancy for it. He’s not sure what it means. But sitting here watching seems invasive. Disrespectful. Coran gave him an out in certain doom against Zarkon. Even if Keith didn’t listen, he can at least reciprocate a gesture.

“I uh, had a question.”

Immediately, Coran perks up. Like an automatic reset. Leaning into the screen he snaps his fingers before adjusting his robes.

“Well if there’s something you want to know, you’ve come to the right place. I’m not only a gorgeous man, I’m an intellectual individual!” As if disclosing a secret, Coran shields his face with one hand. “The blade of Marmora aren’t the only ones teeming with infinite knowledge you know!”

Keith raises an eyebrow at that. The allusion doesn’t escape his notice. Alongside other peculiar things. Somehow, Coran’s rather eccentric hand gestures have become a little more mechanical. Keith can’t explain it, but he gets the sense he’s trodden on a nerve. No, he’s stamped on it. Pretty hard. Hard enough to evoke this farce that even for Coran is overkill.

Concern slithers up his spine, locking in to prompt a response.

“Coran, is -“ Keith trails off, trying again. “Are you okay?”

“I’m the very model of okay. Better, even! Now fire away with that question sonny boy and prepare for it to be…” Coran curls the ends of his moustache. “Answered!”

Wetting his lips, Keith glances around the abandoned alcove he’s slipped into. Once sure the coast is clear, he sets his attention back on the screen. Don’t get distracted. _Remember why you’re calling._ The thought of Regris and Platt back in his room keeps him on task.

“I was just wondering, are there any weird habits the space mice have?”

“Hm,” stroking his moustache, Coran stews over the question. “Well, Chuchule does like to dance the space samba and Plachu-”

“No, no. That’s not - it’s...” if Keith wasn’t holding the tablet in both hands, he would be facepalming right now. Frustration nestles into his forehead, drawing his eyebrows together. The image of a mouse ballroom dancing is not exactly on his list of things he desperately wants to see right now, _however impressive it may be._

“Habits,” he spits out irritably. _Normal ones_ for animals back on earth. “I mean, do they have habits like collecting stuff?”

“Of course they do. Why they’re quite a fine bunch of collectors, too!” Coran exclaims with such enthusiasm Keith has to do another perimeter check. When he turns back, Coran has the other mice in his presence.

“No,” he says in a deadpan because this can’t be real.

“Yes! Who do you think helped me acquire all those goods from the Unilu? It wasn’t just my dazzling charm alone and skills in bartering that bought King Alfor his most prized treasures. Platt used to be the best-“

Keith’s eyes widen at that. Something in his expression must give him away because Coran abruptly cuts off.

“Oh dear…”

That’s certainly one way of putting this fiasco.

“Keith,” Coran’s voice goes gentle and coaxes him closer. The sincerity of his name is enough to hold his attention despite the unfolding calamity in his bedroom. “You should know it’s also common for them to collect up gifts for people they love when they’re away.”

Posture straightening, Keith swallows the lump in his throat.

“Love?” he asks despite himself, breath hitching. There’s a rasp in his voice that risks breaking it all apart. The word is reverent, tentative. Disbelieving. It’s strange how words can cleave open skin just as efficiently as a blade.

“Yes. Love,” Coran confirms. “The mice find it difficult to say goodbye, you see. They… well even these little guys here, they miss you now you’re not around. Platt must feel the same.”

Keith’s eyebrows shoot upwards. It’s difficult to process. A humourless laugh ghosts over his lips. It splinters into a ragged raw sound. He shouldn’t ask but he can’t reign in the insatiable yearning for confirmation. “They do?”

“Sometimes I catch them up to all sorts. They’re looking for memories of you all the time to steal back and keep. To them, it’s the best kind of treasure there is.”

The unspoken undertone is too much. Overwhelming. Suddenly, Keith doesn’t know what they’re talking about anymore. Or rather, _who._ The mice don’t look nearly as affected as Coran claims they are. But there’s the same unfamiliar tone lurking in the corners of every word. And Keith refuses to let his composure collapse for this, but the pillars are already unsteady.

He hears it then.

They miss him. The team miss him. But they don’t begrudge him for leaving. There’s no blame. But there is surprising bitterness. Keith doesn’t understand it - there’s not time to unpack it. And he doesn’t want to. Not here in a secluded alcove where shaky wet breaths echo far too loudly.

“Thanks for the help, Coran.” He moves to disconnect the call before he even finishes the words. He can hardly breathe. It’s dizzying, terrifying, this revelation. He’ll call them soon. He will.

“I gotta go.”

\--

Keith isn’t a dramatic person. Playing things up for the sake of attention or glory has never been something that appealed to him. A story with all the details in the right place, with the right information, is just fine. It makes a better story that way, in his mind. And if anything, Keith often tends to understate things. Because sometimes the details hurt and gnaw away at his bones, sometimes the facts burn too ferociously inside his chest to recall vividly.

So when the first word that comes to mind as Keith steps back into his bedroom is _anarchy,_ that is absolutely not an exaggeration in the slightest.

Regris is crouched underneath his bed, eyes wide. Nestled close to his side is Platt. Meanwhile, in the centre of the room, is a localised apocalypse. Sat in an innocent-looking enough plant pot, is a beast straight out of hell. Keith is sure. There’s no other way to put it from where he’s standing.

It’s as tall as Keith at least, with three rows of prickly teeth bigger than fingers. The jaw snaps, with an awful wailing sound. Strange purple vines spew from its spindly stem, curling around different objects and hurling them forcefully across the room.

Whatever this thing is, it’s _angry_.

“What is that?!” Keith shrieks, slamming the door shut behind him quickly and leaning - not cowering no absolutely not - against it.

“It’s a cacardirak,” Regris calls from under the bed. Platt squeaks frantically, as if confirming it.

That means nothing to Keith. But he’ll settle for as much information as he can get. Eyeing the spot under his own bed, Keith weighs up his options. Narrowly dodging the ornament thrown his way, Keith grits his teeth and dives for the hiding place. It’s a success. Catching his breath, Keith pokes his head out from under the bed.

All he has are questions, far too many of them.

“Why is it so big? How didn’t nobody notice it was here?” Keith flinches as an engraved pendant lands inches from his face. This is an unprecedented situation, not exactly something they’re usually equipped for dealing with. In a flurry of wild untamed concern, the questions keep rolling off his tongue.

“ _How_  exactly are we supposed to get it to calm down?”  

“I think it’s homesick,” Regris calls across their room. Somehow he sounds completely calm. It makes no sense. “This species is usually well tempered, but does not adapt well to new surroundings.”

“Whose is it?!” Keith asks, struggling to understand how this thing is deemed safe to keep around in the first place. There’s a pause, as if Regris is mulling it over carefully.

“Sorang’s.”

In the time Keith has come to know Sorang, it seems fitting that she would have a temperamental prickly plant as a pet. Still, that doesn’t make this better. Sorang has been away for some time with Keith. Moving the plant out of a comfortable environment was bound to be a recipe for disaster. It’s probably even _more_ homesick right now, especially if it considers its home to be Sorang. Banging his head against the floor, Keith huffs. Great. Just great.

Out of the corner of his eye, Keith catches the frenzied plant pick up a bound notebook with one of its vine. Then the jaws open at the exact moment Keith spots the unmistakable sigil on the book’s spine and it’s ready to bite down and oh no. No. No. _No._

Lunging forwards without thought, Keith yanks hard on the book now covered in slime.

“Sorry. That’s not on the menu.”

The carcardirak bristles, snapping at Keith agitatedly. But Keith holds on tightly to the book, refusing to let it get closer to the plant’s seriously disturbing mouth.

“What are you doing?” Regris goes ignores behind him.

“Good plant,” Keith coos, knowing it’s futile. His attempts at playing nice are cancelled. “Oh come on! Just drop the book. _Please!”_

As if on cue the door to their room bursts open. Keith’s unsure whether to be relieved or horrified by who is standing there. He doesn’t have time to decide. Abruptly, the force he’s exerting into yanking the book back has him toppling to the ground. It’s the most graceless clumsy fall.

“... _Ow_ ,” he groans, because his muscles are already incredibly sore.

Hoisting himself back up, Keith’s greeted by a peculiar sight. The vicious demonic plant from before sits in the same pot on top of the pile. Only now it’s the size of a palm, swaying contentedly. Keith can’t deny how disarmingly cute the plant looks. The eyes are no longer small and beady. They’re pressed shut as Sorang beams. It’s strange to even consider the plant could ever be a monstrous creature now seeing it in its natural state.

“There you are Tchiorla!”

Leaning down to scoop the pot into her hands, Sorang casts a stern glare between Keith, Regris, and the pile on the floor. Platt has taken cover in Regris’ hood out of sight. For once it’s a decision Keith can’t argue with. Sorang has every right to be mad, even if this is out of Keith’s hands. 

“What is this?” Sorang asks, disrupting the momentary peace she brought in. Her foot nudges Aredis’ toothbrush. “The black market of Marmora?”

“I-...” Keith begins, mind reeling. There is no logical way to explain this, no way to get around this. “I’m sorry. It’s- I mean, I didn’t-“

“Stop waddling with these words, little duckling. Hey. Duvini,” Sorang turns to Regris. Keith gapes at the word. He doesn’t know much Galran, but he’s pretty sure that term is one used in cases of blood relation. He just can’t remember which kind. “What say you? Hm! I am not a fool. Our tiny friend just got back from this mission with me. There is not a chance this stuff came here so soon.”

“I lost a limb, Sorang,” Regris counters whilst crawling out from under the bed. But he sounds a little petulant, whiny even, which is extremely unusual. Out of character, even.

“That is not an answer!”

Before the bickering can get out of control, and potentially draw more people towards the room, Keith speaks up.

“It’s my fault.” Glancing over to Regris, Keith frowns. “Platt, it’s okay. Come on out.”

Slowly on cue, the yellow mouse appears from Regris’ hood. Sorang’s eyes flash with something close to wonder.

“What is that?”

“A mouse.” Keith doesn’t realise his mistake until the response comes.

“A mouse,” Sorang repeats, the exact same way Regris had done many weeks ago.  

“No, it’s mouse.” Regris points to his shoulder. “A mouse is one. Mouse is for many.”

“Mice is many,” Keith chips in before he can stop himself, meeting their confused expressions. “Mouse is one, but we say a mouse.” Pause. It’s another mistake. They definitely don’t have time to go into the tedious details. “It’s name is Platt,” Keith hastily adds because that will make everything easier.

“Platt,” leaning forwards, Sorang seems to settle with that. She pats the mouse’s head gently with one hand. Tchiorla stretches out to take a closer look curiously. “It’s very cute. A bit like a duckling?”

Being likened to a mouse is one comparison too far. Keith folds his arms, pursing his lips. Anyway. Best get to the point.

“Allura sent Platt here so I… could feel the others with me. But Coran said that when the space mice miss people they collect stuff as gifts for their return.”

“Ah, I see.” Sorang nods. “This little fellow missed you very much on our mission, then.” Her expression hardens, staring the mouse down. The change is so rapid Platt visibly twitches. “Did you know you were stealing?”

Platt avidly shakes its head. It’s such a lie. Incredulously, Keith raises an eyebrow in the mouse’s direction. Nobody else seems to catch his open disbelief, which is probably a good thing. All Keith wants is for this end already. With a sigh, Sorang cradles Tchiorla to her chest.

“Alright,” she says, as if they have made an agreement. “I will help you put it all back. But first you both apologise to Tchiorla and Keith.”

The apology on Keith's lips ebbs away. He blinks, realisation settling in. 

“It’s fine. I - I need to get this back.” _Before things really take a turn for the worse._  

Sorang nods. “Then leave the rest to me and my duvini. When you return, this mess will all be gone.”

The sheer relief must have consumed Keith’s entire demeanour. He’s met with a sympathetic smile. Sorang taps his head playfully as he walks past, the same way she did on their missions when the days came to a close. A swell of warmth nestles in his chest. It’s something similar to belonging. Maybe. Allura’s words echo back, and instead of being incredibly frightening they’re comforting. 

It’s not until he looks down at the book in his hands Keith’s expression mood falters.

Knowledge or death.

\--

Kolivan’s notebook.

Out of everything Platt had to go and steal, of all things Tchiolra had to try and eat and cover in slime, it had to be Kolivan’s notebook. Of course it did.

Being surprised by this turn of events is not something Keith can have the luxury of anymore. He’s resignedly accepted this entire day is one which will haunt him for all eternity no matter what. The whole thing is utterly terrifying. Terrible. Whilst his body is pleading for rest, muscles bruised and every inch of his skin uncomfortable, he can’t stop. Not until this is done, and Kolivan’s book is back exactly where it should be.

Keith walks briskly down the corridor, the notebook tucked protectively into his side. Fortunately, the universe throws him one single good thing: the corridor is empty. It doesn’t stop Keith from picking up the pace, worst case scenarios biting at his heels.

He doesn’t dare open the book beyond quickly checking the front pages weren’t dampened with the sticky plant slime. The mystery regarding the contents inside is none of his business. Even carrying the book feels intrusive. _Invasive._ Wrong. His fingers burn, itching to get rid of it as quickly and efficiently as possible. It won’t clear him of the pressing guilt he feels about this, but at least it will ease it.

It just had to be Kolivan’s book. Of all things.

Rounding the corner, Keith approaches the doorway to Kolivan’s study. It’s the closest thing to private quarters Kolivan has. Keith’s never set foot inside there once. The conference room a few corridors down is where meetings and mission preparations take place. Hand hovering over the door, Keith goes to knock only to drag his hand back. He has to be discreet about this. He needs to be careful. Calculated. _Sneaky._ A simple in and out job, a mission of sorts-

“-Keith.”

The voice from behind startles Keith enough for the book to almost slip from its hiding place. Turning slowly, Keith contemplates pulling up his mask. But that would be far too suspicious. So it’s with as much conviction he can muster, Keith feigns a casual demeanour. Already his hands are growing clammy, his pulse accelerating. It takes a few tries to form actual words rather than just the jumbled shape of them. And all that comes out is one rather pathetically. 

“Kolivan.”

“I was not expecting to see you here.” Hands behind his back, Kolivan peers down curiously. “Is everything alright?”

No.

“Everything is fine. Just it’s-”

_Don’t give him the book do not pull out the book do not reveal the book-_

Keith pulls out the book from its hiding place, noting the way Kolivan’s eyes widen a fraction. In one smooth motion, the book is plucked out of Keith’s hands. Somehow that’s the easy part.

“You uh-” averting his gaze, Keith shuffles on his feet. Admittedly, he is an abysmal liar. Under these circumstances and Kolivan’s careful gaze, there is just absolutely no way he is going to last. Nonetheless, he persists. If there’s one thing Keith is capable of doing, it’s sticking to a cause and seeing it through the bitter end no matter what. “You dropped it.”

“That is most interesting,” Kolivan examines the book, evidently noticing remnants of slime that Keith had failed to clean off. Gloved fingers wipe the cover down. Keith endeavours to stand his ground. “I am not one to misplace my belongings.” _Especially this,_ goes unsaid but is clear from the way Kolivan’s voice has unexpectedly grown hushed. “Keith. Where exactly did I drop this?”

It’s a simple question, but it feels like a test. No, worse - it feels like a trial. It _sounds_ as if Kolivan himself doesn’t believe any of this either.

“I just - I uh, saw it on the ground when I was walking…”

“Walking where?” Flicking his eyes up, Keith bites his lip. Damn this. Improvisation paired with lying is a recipe for nothing good or remotely convincing. However, there is no feasible way Keith can relay the entire story. It’s just too absurd. Even now, he is struggling to process it himself. Nonetheless, Kolivan is waiting patiently for an explanation. For some unknown reason, he continues to indulge this total farce. It shouldn’t be so encouraging, but Keith will take whatever he can get at this stage.

“I was walking,” Keith repeats slowly, words trailing off in a way that has him wincing. Oh no. This is truly terrible. “Down a corridor. I saw it on the ground when I was walking.” The words are merely a regurgitation from before. Keith isn’t sure if he imagines the twitch of Kolivan’s lips or not. “So then I - I picked it up.”

“That explains the misplacement, I suppose,” Kolivan concedes, head lifting enough to pose a discreet challenge Keith reads immediately. “Thought it does not explain why is the cover is wet.”

“The showers,” Keith automatically says, because it’s the only thing he can think of and if he stirs it over too much the answer will get even more obscure. This near frantic scrambling is slipping further away to places where he can’t follow anymore. But then again, the actual truth is even more unlikely.

“I went to have a shower and left the book on the side. I guess it got a little wet. I’m sorry.” Pause. As Kolivan opens the book to peer inside, Keith brings a hand up quickly. “I didn’t look inside! It’s - I wouldn’t. I-”

Kolivan lulls Keith into stunned silence with one single gesture. From his pocket appears a thin pair of reading glasses. The wire frame sits on Kolivan’s face, softening his brow and loosening all the tension in his jawline instantly. Turning the pages, Kolivan’s eyes trace over what’s inside. Keith watches quietly. As Kolivan finds the page he’s looking for, his lips curl into a stolen private smile that barely flickers into existence. What happens next, Keith never expected.

It’s a Galran poem, hand crafted by Kolivan.

The words are so very beautiful, spoken wistfully and with incredible care. They roll off Kolivan’s tongue in such an engaging way, unravelling delicately despite the hard consonants. From the lilt of the phrasing, to the soft undertone as his voice dips into low hushed notes, it’s mesmerising to listen to. Absolutely mesmerising. In awe, Keith leans closer and hangs onto each line. Just as each one comes, he yearns for the next whilst simultaneously moving backwards to tug it all back together.

And then it’s finished.

Closing the book, Kolivan tucks it away into his pocket. Shortly after, his glasses are removed. All Keith is capable of doing is staring blankly, unsure how else to etch those words into his bones. They felt important, reverent. That’s confirmed when Keith meets Kolivan’s eyes. Something heavy is settling there, a tired and worn shadow cascading down his face. Not even the brightness of a thousand suns could rekindle the lost light. With a few blinks, the vacancy is gone - but not replaced.

“Get some rest, Keith.”

Nodding weakly, Keith clenches a fist. All attempts at forming words are entirely lost to him. He wants to understand, but he doesn’t. Kolivan has given him an inch. Only the between Keith and the inch is a gaping ravine he has to cross. Jumping requires more than restless energy and curiosity. Not to mention his muscles are sore, begging for respite. The only thing he can do competently now is to walk away. He makes it a few paces before Kolivan’s voice tugs his attention back.

“Keith,” Glancing over his shoulder, Keith holds his breath. “Try to keep your little friend out of trouble in the future.”

Wait _what-_

Before Keith has a chance at responding to that, Kolivan enters his private chambers. Keith thinks he hears a low rumbling laugh, but he can’t be entirely sure.

This day has surpassed strange. 

\--

Just as Sorang assured him, Keith steps into a tidy room devoid of chaos incarnate. Regris is slouched on his bed, idly scanning through the holopad. As Keith closes the door, Platt wriggles out from beneath the covers excitedly. And despite all the mayhem, Keith doesn’t have it in him to reprimand the mouse any further for causing so much trouble. Besides, it’s all sorted out now.

“You missed a call,” Regris says once Keith is seated on his bed. Gripping the bed frame tightly, Keith’s eyes widen. Did Coran tell the team? _What if the team got the wrong idea because he didn’t pick up, or-_

“Who from?” Keith rolls his shoulders back, stroking Platt’s fur as the mouse settles into his lap.

“It was the green one.” _Pidge._ “They had some news to share with you, but said it could wait until the morning when you’ve had some sleep.” With a hum, Regris sets the holopad down. “They seemed very bouncy on the screen, like our mouse.”

Keith smirks at that observation, making note to pass that information onto Pidge. The green paladin of Voltron is bound to _love_ being likened to a mouse. As the amusements withers away, Keith is left with imminent confusion. Bouncy. It’s certainly an interesting choice of words. Whatever Pidge has to tell him, it must be exciting or pretty good news. With that knowledge, the thought of calling the team back doesn’t seem too daunting anymore.

Settling onto the bed, he muses over the day’s events.

“Does Kolivan have any family here?” the words slip out too fast, and it’s a big mistake. Regris sits up, watching Keith intently. As usual, nothing escapes his attention. Regis is going to press for the facts, demand them as subtly as he can.

“What happened?”

“Nothing, it’s just -.... It’s nothing.” Keith sighs, pushing the heels of his hands into the mattress. This isn’t a conversation he should be having with anybody besides Kolivan. And that’s only if Kolivan is willing to share it. Sensing Keith’s stress, Platt nestled against his side. The answer is not a satisfying one for Regris, but given it concerns their leader he lets it ebb away into unresolved silence.

“Sorang called you  _duvini,_ ” Keith eventually offers. It’s difficult to piece together a translation by himself and it’s evading him. Lying back down on the bed, Regris dims the lights for sleeping.

“We are cousins,” he admits eventually.  

 _Cousins._ Keith makes note of that, though it’s unlikely to stick. After the revelation, conversation tapers off so naturally between them. As Regris’ breathing slows, it becomes tempting for Keith to follow suit. Beside him Platt is making a mini nest with the covers, curling into a tiny ball by his shoulder.

Lying down, Keith makes himself comfortable. Well, as comfortable as he can. Frowning, he shuffles a little on the bed. It makes no difference. Keith rolls over, reaching under his pillow for the unusual lump that keeps sticking into his head. Right. Okay. As his fingers enclose around the object, a ragged sigh escapes his lips. It spins itself into an exasperated laugh that leads nowhere. Platt squeaks beside him.

“What is it, Keith?” Regris asks in the darkness, unable to resist the unknown.

Pulling the item out from beneath his pillow, Keith tosses it onto the desk. 

“Aredis’ toothbrush.”

Maybe they still have a little bit more work to do come tomorrow.   

**Author's Note:**

> I LOVE THEM SO MUCH.... ALL OF THEM. i really would love to write Akkim and Sorang again. Also, if you've read some of my other BOM stories, you might recognise Aredis 8))c


End file.
